Was It Love?
by Whiterose619
Summary: Was there a fire underneath all that smoke? Did the Daily Prophet know the state of his heart better than he did? Was it really love that he felt for her?  Dramione Oneshot. R&R!


**A/N: This is an old oneshot I wrote a while back. I just found it and decided to finish it and post it. I'm not sure I like the ending, but my muse seems to be on vacation. **

**Please read and review! I would appreciate honest feedback and constructive criticism.**

Was it Love?

_Men love because they are afraid of themselves, afraid of the loneliness that lives in them, and need someone in whom they can lose themselves as smoke loses itself in the sky. _

_~V.F. Calverton_

Was it love? He didn't think so. Of course, how could he know? He'd never experienced it before. But he was pretty sure it wasn't love. Wasn't love supposed to be much stronger than what he felt for her? Wasn't love self-sacrificing? Didn't love inspire more passion, more devotion?

He was fond of her, nothing more. Yes, that was it. He was merely fond of the girl who had become his best friend in the year that he'd gotten to know her. How could anyone insinuate that he was in love with her?

Love was painful right? He wasn't in any undue pain from his feelings. He only felt a minor discomfort, uneasiness in his gut on the days he didn't see her.

So he felt like scum when he hurt her feelings. That was to be expected, wasn't it? He couldn't hurt his best friend's feelings and not feel bad about it.

And yeah he was utterly miserable when they had a fight and she would refuse to talk to him for days. But she was his only friend. She was the only person he trusted, the only one he confided everything in. She listened to his new ideas, his confessions of guilt, his deepest fears, his happiest moments, his secret wishes, his complaints, his worries, and anything else his over-imaginative brain could think of.

She laughed at his jokes, even the stupid ones. She told him when he was being a jerk. She teased him mercilessly when he was in a mood to humor her. She always made him feel better when he was in a foul mood, even when she didn't know what to say or do. Just talking to her dramatically improved his mood.

Yep, those were definitely the signs of a strong friendship. He was sure of it. Now he only had to convince the rest of the world. And maybe himself.

He hated how his heart did little flip-flops at the mention of her name. He hated the happy little smile that he could never stop at the sight of her. And he absolutely hated the feeling of disappointment that inevitably welled up whenever her plans to see him changed at the last minute. These things always made him doubt the innocence of his feelings for her.

Why was love so complicated? Wait, what was he thinking? Friendship, he meant friendship. Yes, that was it. That was the word. Their friendship was complicated. When your best friend was female, feelings tended to get discussed. A lot, unfortunately. He didn't like examining his feelings under a microscope. Especially when the scrutiny made him wonder if there really was a fire under all that smoke.

He had heard the rumors. And read them in the Daily Prophet's gossip column. They were dating. They were engaged. They were going to marry next fall. The wizarding world apparently knew the exact date for the wedding. Never mind that it kept shifting a few days here and there depending on whom you listened to.

He knew she had heard the rumors too. But the one thing she never discussed was how she felt about them. The one thing he really did want to discuss. He wasn't even sure how he felt about them. But there were moments…moments when he wondered how life would be if even half of the rumors were true. These moments were usually reserved for the deepest part of the night, when he would lie awake in the dark, wondering. Wondering if the time would ever come when he wouldn't have to wonder.

And sometimes he would wonder how life would be without her. Those were the moments that would strike fear in his heart, would cause him to jump out of bed, turn on all the lights, and splash cold water onto his face. Then he would throw on some clothes and visit her in the dead of the night. She never complained when he did that. There were times when he wanted to ask why. But the words never seemed to cross his lips.

He never told her what scared him. It was the only fear he had never shared with her. He thought it was better that way. He didn't want her to think that maybe he had spread those rumors. She always assumed he'd had a bad dream or something. Maybe he saw his parents being tortured again. Maybe he saw the blood of innocents being spilled again. By his hand. She knew all of the hells he had endured. And survived. What she didn't know was that she was the reason he had survived them. And he wasn't sure he would ever tell her.

He would simply allow her to speak softly, soothing away his fear and anger. Then she would make his favorite, hot chocolate, and they would spend hours talking and laughing together. He would leave in the early hours of the morning, happy and relaxed. Until he got home, where he was faced with an empty manor and lights that mocked him, reminding him once again of his fears. He would pace the empty halls until his feet led him to a bed where he would spend a few hours dozing fitfully. As soon as he would wake, his first thought would be to seek her out, so that he could find peace and happiness.

She always met him for lunch on those days. He would feel terribly guilty at first, knowing that he had robbed her not only of a good night's sleep, but the company of friends who actually made her happy, instead of the other way around. But five minutes into lunch and the guilt would be forgotten.

She had that effect on him. Whenever he was around her, his negative feelings would diminish. She would fill the silence with chatter about her life, her job, her friends and family. She would ask him about his day as if she hadn't just spent half the night conversing with him. He was glad she understood his loneliness so well.

Those were the bad days. Good days were utterly blissful. Those were the days he would see her often. And even when he didn't see her, his days would be filled with work that she had inspired him to do. He focused on his business, met new people, and was nice to everyone. The last only happened on _really_ good days. But it did happen. And she was happy with that.

What he hated were the really bad days. Those were the days his fears, his anger, his self-loathing all took hold of him and tortured him ceaselessly. Those were the days he was unkind to her if she was unfortunate enough to cross his path. Those were the days that riddled him with guilt afterwards. The hurt and fear in her eyes would haunt him in the days and nights that followed. He would begin avoiding her and the rest of the world, shutting himself up in his home for days, sometimes weeks at a time. The first few times this happened, she tried to see him, tried to talk to him. But he wasn't able to look her in the face, wasn't able to answer her pleas to stop hiding. She would go away after a few hours. And he would curl into a ball and weep for the pain he knew he was causing her. After this happened a few times, she stopped coming while he was hiding. She seemed to understand his need to face his demons alone, at least for a little while.

She knew he would seek her out when he was ready. It amazed him that no matter what he said or did, she was always able to forgive him. She never fought with him when this happened, never held any of his actions against him, never complained that he had hurt her. He was never able to apologize for it either. She knew that going back to her was his way of apologizing to her. He was always on his best behavior then, never demanding, always trying to do what he could to make her happy.

The past seemed so surreal at times. The time when he had been a Death Eater, when he had tortured and killed on the Dark Lord's orders, when he had committed atrocities that tore at his soul…it all seemed a lifetime ago. He wasn't the same person anymore. He wasn't struggling to protect his parents every day anymore. He wasn't causing unspeakable pain to innocents and deviants alike anymore. It was all her effect though. From the time he had defected to today, every small change in his life, he attributed to her. She had helped him by being his only friend. She had trusted him, cared about him, helped him survive. And she was the reason he had been able to remove the taint of Voldemort from his family's reputation.

He wondered if she could ever love him. Could she see him as more than a friend? His heart lurched at that thought. _Yes, yes she could, _his heart whispered to him. She had already been able to see him as more than a Death Eater, more than a pitiable survivor. She had kept him sane when worry for his family's well-being nearly drove him mad. She had given him the courage to live with himself. She had embraced his friendship, accompanied as it was with his quirks, his volatile temper, and his unsociable behavior.

She had accepted him then as he was. And she had stuck by his side even after he left the Order. He had left without telling her, assuming that she would forget about him now that the War was over. He had played his part in her life and left, not expecting to be missed. She had tracked him down and given him a right talking-to with a glare that would put Molly Weasley to shame. It had certainly put him to shame. He hadn't realized he was as important to her as she was to him.

But that was what confused him now. He knew their friendship was equally important to both of them. But lately, the rumors circulating about them had brought to the front of his mind a question that he thought he had buried deep into his soul. _Was it love? _

Images of her flashed before his eyes. She was smiling at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She was laughing uncontrollably at something he had said sarcastically. She was crying softly, after hearing of his pain and loss. She was yelling at Potter and Weasley for trying to goad him into a duel. She was glaring at him, tears staining her cheeks, her wand pointed at him, yelling at him for leaving without telling her, without thinking about what she would go through.

The last image stayed in his mind. He would always cherish that memory. She had clearly told him what his friendship meant to her, all while threatening him with her wand, lest he move or try to leave. He felt like the pieces were falling into place and the answer was becoming clear to that long-hidden question: was it love?

Nope, he definitely was not in love with her.

He was crazy about her and there wasn't a damn thing he would do to change that.


End file.
